#corgi's writing

[pallysuune]

Summery: Cleaning armor turns into a sweet little moment between you and a certain Raven.

Pairing: Alastor Rushal/Reader

Warnings: For once, none. Amazing!

A/N: It's meant to be a short continuation of my Sev/Reader/Rushal series, which is usually a fem!reader, but since this one doesn't really reference any specifically gendered body parts, it could also be read as gender neutral.

You had settled into life as Sevatar's personal serf well enough. It wasn't a terribly difficult job. The Captain was a largely independent man who preferred to do much of the important work himself. You weren't allowed to touch his weapons. You cleaned his armor and the 'decorations' on it, but he tanned any new skin himself. Largely, your job consisted of laundry, cleaning, and running errands for him. Picking up data slates and reports he wanted, taking things to his brothers, handling food and drink for him on the rare occasion he ate something more than just nutrient paste.

Rushal lingered around often. You assumed he had his own room somewhere, because he wasn't always there, but he was there often. A silent shadow just lingering around, or reading, or tending his weapons. Of course, you knew the Astartes had their own things to do. Training and the like, so it didn't surprise you that you would sometimes only see your master for a few hours a day.

What was more rare were the moments that Sevatar was gone, but Rushal was there.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, with one of Sevatar's heavy leg plates held on your lap as you scrubbed at a particularly stubborn piece of grime from it. Just across from you, Rushal was also sitting on the floor, nearly mirroring your actions as he cleaned his own armor. You watched him from the corner of your eye. When you'd first met him, you'd thought his appearance particularly gruesome, even for a Space Marine. But you'd gotten more used to it. You'd learned to look past the scars and take in more of him as a person. He was softer than Sevatar was. You hesitated to say 'sweeter' but the word did come to mind when dealing with him. Maybe it was a difference between how the Raven Guard he had abandoned dealt with their serfs versus what you were used to from the Night Lords.

Maybe that was what prompted you to speak up despite the fact that you didn't actually serve him. "Do you want me to do that?"

He lifts his head a little bit to look at you and then shook his head.

You frowned slightly, your brows knitting. "Why?"

He hesitated a moment, then reached over to take his pauldron from the pile of pieces of armor on the floor. He turned it, showing you the top of it. On the matte black surface was the scraps of a white shape, just barely visible still. A white raven, broken apart. He tapped it lightly.

"You... did that yourself?" you asked.

He nodded.

"And that's why you won't let me clean your armor?"

He nodded again.

Those two things didn't quite line up in your mind, you weren't sure what him breaking his old legion sigil and you not cleaning his armor had in common, but you didn't try to figure it out too hard. Space Marines were strange. You would probably never really understand. Instead, you just tip your head to the side slightly. "Alright. Well. If I can ever help, you can just let me know..."

His expression softened slightly. He set the pauldron aside and smoothly shifted forward, up onto his hands and knees to close the distance between the two of you. One large hand came up to cup your cheek, turning your head toward him. His lips, rough and twisted, pressed against yours so very softly. Your heart skipped a beat.

It didn't last nearly long enough, in your opinion. All too soon, Rushal pulled away from you, his eyes lingering on your face. His hand still cradled his cheek. His roughly calloused thumb brushed the arch of your cheekbone lightly. And then he drew away, sitting back down and pulling his pauldron back into his lap. You were left just staring at him, as he went back to cleaning his armor.

Slowly, a small, warm smile crept across your lips. You looked back down toward Sevatar's armor, still in your lap, but it took a few moments before you actually started working again, committing the feeling of his lips against yours into your memory.

Still smiling, you got back to work, humming softly under your breath now.

[pallysuune]

Summery: Sevatar takes solace in his Raven when his psyker headaches grow to be too much. Literally.

Pairing: Sevatar/Rushal

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, blood, typical Sevatar and Rushal stuff.

A/N: I love these two toxic boys. Don't judge me.

Rushal knows the headaches are getting to be too bad when Sevatar grabs him and slams him too hard against the wall, forcing his mouth to slot over his. He doesn't blame him for the violence, never. Half their relationship is violence. It's what they're both made for, something they'll never get away from. But Sevatar has eased toward him with time, and so these moments stand out all the more. How Sevatar pressed against him like he's trying to drown in him. Like he needs him to survive.

It's just a balm, he knows. A salve. An attempt to drive away the pain that splits apart his mind from the inside out. He can't actually save Sevatar from what is slowly killing him, though he wished he could. This is the best he could do.

He relaxes pliantly under Sevatar's hands as the Captain kisses him, tongue stealing into his mouth, tracing the scars along the inside of his cheek, caressing the stump of his tongue. Rushal lets out a low sound, more a rumble in the air between them than an actual noise. Sevatar's fingers dig hard into his shoulders.

Hands scramble at his tunic. His own find purchase in Sevatar's shirt. Neither of them have much regard for the fabric in moments like this. The sound of it ripping is drowned out by a deeper groan from the Raven as Sevatar's hand palms him roughly through his pants.

The metallic scent of blood registers in his mind slowly. There's something wet on his lips. He rears his head back. Sevatar is looking up at him, tension at the corner of his eyes. His nose is bleeding. The red stands out starkly against his skin.

Rushal raises a hand toward his face.

“Leave it,” Sevatar barks, pushing forward to kiss him again. Desperate, barely contained. He rakes red welts across Rushal's chest, nails catching on scars. Small beads of blood rise to the surface of his skin in their wake. Rushal hisses, but doesn't try to stop him.

In a whirlwind of motion, the rest of his clothes are torn away, and he's turned to face the wall, pressed up against it by a heavy forearm against the back of his neck. He splays his hands across the cold plasteel and closes his eyes. Spit-slick fingers press to - and into - his ass. He lets a shapeless groan slip past his lips, his eyes slipping closed.

Sevatar does not allow him long, but Rushal doesn't mind. The burn as Sevatar finally pulls his fingers out and sheaths himself in him is familiar, almost welcome. A hand grips his hip, nails digging in roughly, leaving crescent shapes in his skin. The other arm is still laying across the back of his neck. Sevatar holds him in place and fucks him roughly.

And fuck, it feels good.

He's unbearably hard himself. He slips a hand down, curling his fingers around his length. Sevatar does not stop him. He's growling like something wild behind him, lost in it all, his only anchor the feeling of Rushal's body beneath his.

Rushal fucks his palm in the same rhythm as the buck of Sevatar's hips. He feels something hot drip onto his back. It rolls down his back slowly. Blood from Sevatar's nose. The feeling of it slowly running down the taut muscles of his back sends a shiver rushing up his spine.

It isn't long until Sevatar slams his hips against his ass, burying himself in him as he comes, cock pulsing as he fills him. He growls, feral and dark, before slowly relaxing. He slumps, his forehead resting against Rushal's back. He can feel the tickle of Sevatar's hair against his skin.

He has the honor of hearing words no one else likely ever would from the Captain as Sevatar whispers against him.

“I'm sorry.”

If the act itself was reminiscent of the darker time directly after his torture, that feeling is broken by just those two words. Rushal reaches back, tapping Sevatar's hips lightly. He gets the hint and draws back, slipping out of Rushal.

The Raven doesn't bother to finish himself. It isn't about him at the moment. Instead, he takes a ripped piece of his shirt and unceremoniously cleans himself up, grabbing another and moving to where Sevatar has slumped down onto his bed, sitting casually across it with his back propped against the wall. Using the same soiled rag, Rushal cleans him, before tossing it away. With the second, clean tatter of cloth, he leans close and gently wipes the blood from Sevatar's face. Already, the flow has become sluggish. It will stop soon enough.

Sevatar's closed eyes flickered slightly open when Rushal cleans his face, looking over at him with a grimace, before closing again. The corners of his eyes are still pinched from pain, but it seems to be fading.

With them both cleaned up, Rushal pulls Sevatar down to the bed. It takes a moment for them both to arrange themselves comfortably, in a tangle of muscular limbs and heavy bodies.

The door is locked. It is just the two of them in the darkness of Sevatar's quarters. Safe in a way neither wants to think of too hard. It takes a long time for Sevatar to finally sleep. Rushal knows from experience he won't sleep long. He can only hope the headache has eased the rest of the way by the time he wakes up.

[pallysuune]

Summery: You were unfortunate enough to catch the eye of Jago Sevatarion. By some stroke of luck, you were able to slip away from him. There's only one thing you forgot to take into account - the Captain's Raven still haunts the ship.

Pairing: None really? Sevatar/fem!Reader/Rushal eventually.

Warnings: Night Lords are just a warning all their own. Especially Sev and Rushal. Not much else here.

A/N: No smut here, but maybe I'll make a second part with it, if people would like one.

You had always heard such horrible rumors about what the Night Lord's did to their serfs. You had done the best you could to keep your head down and desperately tried to be as uninteresting as possible. You were human. You were disposable. Worse than that, some of the Night Lords enjoyed hurting humans, and would use any excuse to relieve a serf of their position to use as a toy.

But you'd messed up. After a long, frustrating day, you'd snapped to one of the other humans about what you would do to one of the more rude Astartes if you 'got your hands on them'.

You were scrubbing the floor and didn't see the man you were talking to go pale. Didn't see someone looming behind you.

"Is that so?"

You'd frozen at the sound of that impossibly deep rasp. Your heart stopped. You thought you were going to die, right then and there. You didn't need to look up to know who it was.

And you didn't look up, you just pivoted toward him, pressing your forehead to the ground. "M- my lord, forgive me, I-" you gasped, your voice wavering with dear.

"Save it," Sevatar dismissed your words. "Look at me."

You couldn't bring yourself to look up. Your heart was racing too fast, the world darkened at the edges of your vision. It was only when he shifted impatiently, when you heard that slight squeak of the pneumatics of his armor, that you moved, jerking your head up so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You looked up at Jago Sevatarion, your heart in your throat. He looked back down at you, impassive and apparently unconcerned with your panic. He studied you a moment longer, then his lips twisted into a smirk.

"Come to my rooms after the serf's final meal tonight," he said. And before you could say anything, he turned and walked away.

Oh.

Oh, you were so dead.

You looked back at the other serf who you had been speaking to, only to find them frantically washing the floor, ignoring you. Well, you couldn't blame him. It was every human for them self on a Night Lord ship. Which also meant you were on your own if you wanted to find a way to survive.

You had to run.

The serfs day was separated into times to work, times to eat, and times to sleep. There was a morning meal, and an evening meal. You decided to wait until the change between work and meal time to slip away when all the serfs were shuffling from one place to another. You slipped into a serf's corridor and then, from there, into the vents. You couldn't think of anywhere else to go. It wasn't a permanent solution, you knew, but you didn't know what else to do and you were panicking.

So you crawled through the vents until you found a dark little maintenance corridor. There, you pressed your back to the wall in a corner, pulled your legs up to your chest, and tucked your face into your knees.

You were scared and alone, in the dark. It all weighed down on you. All you could do was close your eyes and cry.

How long you stayed like that, you had no idea.

There was the faintest sound just in front of you. Your head snapped up and your heart stopped.

He looked like a ghost, crouched just in front of you. An Astartes without any armor on, dressed only in black linen pants and shirt. Long, messy black hair framed scarred, paper white face. The heaviest scarring was around his mouth and lips. His eyes were pure black from corner to corner as he looked at you.

You'd forgotten about him. He was so rarely seen.

The Raven.

Sevatar's Raven.

Tears welled in your eyes immediately. "Please," you whispered.

He just looked at you, studying you silently for a long moment. Then he raised a hand, making a complicated series of signs you didn't understand. You shook your head, tears slipping silently down your cheek.

"I don't understand..."

Silently, he shifted closer to you. It was impressive that he could fit in the maintenance tunnel at all, let alone move so smoothly and so quietly. You realized with a little spike of horror that the sound you heard before, the one that had alerted you to his presence at all, must have been intentional.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body against your legs.

"Please," you whispered again. You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears spilling out. "Please don't take me to him. Just- just forget you saw me. Please."

A large, calloused finger traced the curve of your cheek, not wiping the tear away as much as following it, trailing it down your skin. Your breath hitched in a rough sob. He cupped your cheek. His hand was large and warm, and despite the well-worn hardness of his skin, he was gentle when he touched you. As if you were glass.

"Please?" You whimpered, trying one last time, as your eyes fluttered open to look up at him.

He met your gaze with his, and slowly, so slowly, shook his head.

Your heart fell.